


The Strange Traveller

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Gen, background Charlie Bradbury/Bela Talbot, just enjoy some brief Charlie and Cas TV buddy moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angel will show up to grant one's wishes immediately after a downpour.</p><p>Charlie has never heard of that legend before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strange Traveller

Charlie isn't amused at all.

The rolling dark cloud hovers above, blocking out the sun. The air remains heavy and thick with vapor as it threatens to rain. She briskly walks, dreading the idea of being soaked as the path to her apartment seems longer than usual. Worse is that she sweats with the unbearable heat brought by humidity and her right leg cramps despite her usual running shoes on her feet.

A fat drop falls on her cheek and splashes on her eye. She can only sigh as the downpour comes like the world was suddenly plunged into a raging waterfall. She can only accept her fate as she runs two blocks to shelter. Of course, there are many other people who has the same idea as her, running almost blindly in the thick sheet of pouring rain. And it's too late for her to see the person running opposite her. Widening silvery eyes are all Charlie saw before she bumps on the person, yelps and falls painfully on her butt.

She looks at the other person, apology on her lips when the rain stops. It's gone as suddenly as it started, and Charlie blinks away the rainwater from her lashes as she looks, totally gawks on the woman lying in front of her.

She's a grade A bitch, Charlie can immediately tell. The way her forehead creases and her lips curve as she frowns, her long fingers flashing well-manicured nails as she rakes the wet locks of hair plastered on her face. Her eyes flashes sharp, made more beautiful as raindrops clinging on her lashes. Her makeup is miraculously not smudged — no, just a little bit on her right mascara where her fingers had trailed because of her hair.

The woman in front of Charlie remains beautiful despite soaking wet. Charlie can't say the same for herself, especially now that she can only stare at the pretty woman sprawled on the sidewalk just like her. Charlie can only imagine what the woman looks like under the spray of the shower.

"Watch where you're going, dimwit."

Gosh, and she has a British accent too.

Charlie must have looked stupid because the woman looks at her weird. The pretty girl scoffs and stand before stomping away without a backward glance. Charlie watches her walk away, feeling light, until she catches her own reflection on one of the puddles. She's grinning goofily from ear to ear. No wonder the woman left her.

Charlie scrunches her face as she gets to her feet. If there are any angels listening to her, she sorely wishes to see the lady again. Unfortunately, rather than magic served on a silver platter, Charlie collides with someone again. So much for being mindful of her way.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. At least this time, she doesn't fall. It's nothing but a harmless bump, with only Charlie's nose suffering the consequences.

"It's fine," is the reply. Wow, such a deep voice, as if gargling rocks is a thing on mornings. Charlie looks up and it's a tall guy too, totally captivating with slow blinking blue eyes and comely face. The man continues speaking, and yes, the deep voice comes from this tax accountant in front of her. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"Nah, I wasn't looking," Charlie amends.

Oddly, the man isn't wet at all except for a small patch, where Charlie most likely bumps her face. He's not holding an umbrella. Yes, he's wearing a trenchcoat but it isn't waterproof. It is only the ends of his dress pants and his leather shoes that are wet.

The man stares at her oddly too. There's a tiny smile on his pinkish lips, alleviating the seriousness he initially exudes when he first spoke with his deep voice. His mused hair adds to his adorableness. If Charlie isn't playing for the other team, she'd been hitting on this guy and maybe taking him home. He looks willing enough. And despite his straight-laced appearance, the man screams sexy naughtiness behind doors.

Still his eyes are gentle and otherworldly beautiful that she smiles back despite his scrutinizing-like gaze.

"Have we met before?" Charlie asks. And nope, it's not a pick-up line.

"You asked for something," he replies.

Charlie frowns. "What?"

"You sent a prayer to an angel who might listen to you," the man says. "I am listening, so here I am."

The words of the man barely make sense. Charlie thinks she can only hear such things the man is spouting in dreams or people with mental problems. But the man smiles and looks completely serious as he carefully enunciates every word that comes out of his mouth.

Charlie believes she needs her own straight jacket as she entertains the man with her question, "So you're saying you're an angel?"

The man actually looks sheepish. He glances down his feet before replying, "It may be difficult to believe but yes, I'm an angel."

Charlie wants to narrow her eyes in disbelief, or to laugh, to be surprised by someone yelling at her, "Candid camera!". Or to run for the hills. She certainly should do so. Unfortunately she remains rooted on her space on the sidewalk, suddenly conscious of how the entire stretch of road and sidewalk are empty of cars or people.

She can blame the observation to the sudden downpour forcing people back underneath the safety of roofs. But the streets in front of her apartment are busy on weekday afternoons when children are dismissed from their classes to mess around the nearby park or the mall before going home. There are the workers rushing home from their jobs, just like Charlie. And being a Thursday afternoon, she must be in front of her TV catching the latest episode of Vengeance of the High.

 

She blinks. She IS watching Vengeance of the High. She rubs her eyes, berating herself for falling asleep despite the fact that Adelaide finally knew her own heritage and pitches her chance on the throne, despite still not knowing that she unwittingly killed her half-brother when she defends Princess Ada from his sexual advances. Charlie believes that it'll be Ada who'd tell Adelaide about the fratricide, as hinted by the producers of the show themselves.

"Is it really wise for Princess Ada to do that?"

Charlie almost jumps from the sofa she's lying on. The man in the trenchcoat is right beside her, merely cemtimeters from her that she can feel his heat on her skin. He sits stiff backed, his eyes glued on her television screen as he remains unaffected by Charlie's gawk at him.

"If Princess Ada does tell Adelaide, she'd expose Adelaide to the secret of the crime," he continues with his argument. "Knowing Adelaide's character, she'd fall into depression and probably even succumb to her death, despite the goal of her killing her brother is to save her benefactor and the sole person she swore to protect. If Adelaide proceeds to kill herself in her misery of killing her own brother, Princess Ada remains the first successor to the throne. Wouldn't telling Adelaide a selfish move then?"

"Well, I believe that Princess Ada would only tell Adelaide just for knowledge's sake," Charlie explains. "A crime is a crime. And soon enough, Adelaide will learn that she killed her half brother anyway as soon as she sees the family tree on the castle walls. It will be better if Adelaide learns of her crime from Princess Ada, who'll be willing to protect Adelaide and keep the crime a secret, rather than when Adelaide finally claims the throne and will be under everyone's eyes and later admit to the crime and let herself burn on the stake—" Charlie frowns. "Wait, what in the world are you doing in here?!"

The man turns to her, his eyes solemn. But then his small smile is back.

"I told you, I am an angel. And I am here to listen to your prayers." And in an afterthought, he says, "And I like watching television."

Charlie laughs. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I have no such intentions," the man replies. He turns back to the television, his eyes reflecting the images clearly as his overly curious gaze absorbs the fantasy medieval drama. He continues, his voice soft and droning. "I only wish to give you gifts before I have to leave again."

He gives a tired exhale before tilting his head to Charlie. Despite that smile on his face, he looks sad and weary. His deepset eyes suggests he had witnessed many, many things.

"To answer your earlier question, yes, I met you before," the man says. "But not here and never in this time. Maybe I wouldn't have met you in this time at all if... certain things never happened."

Charlie starts to doze off as the man continues speaking. She thinks she has drifted off while the man still speaks in the background. There is something caring and gentleness that the voice carries, despite the source of the voice seemingly as serious and immovable as a huge heavy rock. But she feels at peace and she's sleeping until she hears the man's final words for the night.

"... My name is Castiel," the man says. "Pray for me and I'll come to you."

There is the sound of fluttering wings and Charlie is wide awake. She's all alone in front of her television with the Vengeance of the High playing.


End file.
